


Brothers

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras and Jehan are best brothers for life, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Jehan are both members of the widely-known Prouvaire family. Together, they do what they can to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers

Both Enjolras and Jehan came from the very prestigious Prouvaire family, the basis of several expensive industries around France. 

Enjolras was born first, and therefore assumed the usual first child coddling. He enjoyed being spoiled alone for two years, before his mother’s stomach swelled and, nine months later, a small bundle appeared in her arms. 

Growing up, both children quickly realized that they were different. They were schooled at home, considering Enjolras’ violent mercenary-on-the-playground ideas, and Jean’s lack of sociability. They grew close, because they didn’t have anybody else to grow close to, and Enjolras soon developed a protectiveness over his brother. 

Enjolras, in contrast, was quite loud. Ever-serious, he constantly talked of the wrongs of the world and, Jean having looked up to his older brother, always agreed(even if he sometimes didn’t know what his brother was talking about).

Jehan remembered the time when his mother, who was hardly ever around, sat the two of them down after she caught them waving picket signs around in the foyer( _Stop servant cruelty!; Pay, not slaves!_ ).

“Why the signs?” She asked, carefully brushing stray pieces of blonde hair from their foreheads. Jean’s was tucked back into his braid, and Enjolras’ was held back in a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. 

They scowled, the older boy stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not fair. Servants aren’t animals!” 

“Yeah,” Jean agreed, nodding. His mother shook her head at them, a hint of amusement in her eyes. 

“Oh, darlings,” She said, straightening Jean’s crooked cravat and smoothing Enjolras’ ever-curly hair. “You can’t right all wrongs in this world.” 

Enjolras settled into his chair and huffed. “We can try.” 

Their mother nodded, pressing her lips together. “Of course you can. But you may not succeed in all of them. You can only ever truly commit to one single thing.” 

Jehan and Enjolras were silent for a moment, thinking. Then, the five-year old perked up. 

“Poetry!” He said, giggling as his mother reached out to tickle him. 

“That’s good, ma fleur. What about you, Enj?” 

“France.” Enjolras said decisively, nodding. 

Pulling Jehan onto her lap, the woman smiled warmly at him. “You’re going to save all of France?” 

Enjolras huffed, slumping in his seat. “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” She said, untying his brother’s braid and running long fingers through his hair. “If you ask me, there’s nothing wrong with France.” 

“What do you mean? There’s plenty wrong with France.” 

She pursed her lips and rebraided Jean’s hair, tying it carefully with his red ribbon(she’d just barely discouraged him from pink). “No, there isn’t.” 

“Well, I read in the paper-” 

“Who let you have the paper?” His mother interrupted. 

Enjolras shrugged. “Jehan and I found it.” 

“Jehan? Jean, darling.” She corrected graciously. 

“No,” Enjolras said, his anger flaring in his stomach. “Jehan.” 

“I prefer it.” The younger piped up, frowning when she swept her hand up to take his small fingers from running through her pretty blonde hair. 

“He prefers it.” Enjolras repeated, nodding. 

The woman gave a forced smile and shook her head, pulling Jehan up to look into his bright green eyes. They were like his father’s, while Enjolras procured his mother’s fierce blue eyes. 

“Your name is Jean Prouvaire, and you will be called as such. You understand?” 

The young boy’s eyes were sad, but he nodded softly and looked down. 

“Good.” She lifted him off of her lap and set him down, standing. “Don’t look so glum. Go, play.” 

She swept away, Enjolras scowling behind her. 

Jehan sat down on the carpeted ground, tugging his knees to his chest. He’d always been small, but he looked even smaller like that. 

“Hey,” Enjolras looked down, crawling off his chair to wrap his arms around his little brother. “Don’t listen to her. I’ll still call you Jehan. We just won’t have to tell her, okay? I promise.”   
\--  
“Enj?” Jehan called, lingering in the dark doorway of his big brother’s room. 

The nine-year old stirred, his blue eyes opening. He still remembered that day two long years ago, when he stopped trusting his mother and decided to only ever truly trust his brother. “Hm? What is it, Jehan?” 

The boy shuffled, his blonde hair pillow-mussed and falling down his shoulders. “I-I had a bad dream. Could I . . . maybe. . .” 

Enjolras wordlessly scooted over and nodded. In an instant, the boy had climbed under his covers and nuzzled into his side, sighing softly. 

Eventually, Enjolras rolled over and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him to his chest. “What was your dream about?” 

“My dream was that-” There was a sniffle, and then Jehan continued. “It was that mother locked the library and told me I couldn’t make poems.” 

Enjolras felt another flare of anger at his parents. Had they set to terrorizing them in their sleep now, too? 

“It’s alright,” He comforted, running his hands through Jehan’s long hair. He set to work on gently untangling the strands of gold. “They won’t do that. I won’t let them.”   
\--  
A fourteen-year old Jehan gasped, fighting against the arms that held him back as a large lock was placed on the study. 

“N-No, please, you can’t,” The young boy cried, tears brimming his green eyes as he tried to escape the servant’s grasp. “You-You just can’t! Please!” 

His parents stood by, watching Jean as tears slipped down his cheeks. “It’s only for the best, ma fleur.” His mother said, brushing a stray piece of hair from his face. 

“A man can’t dedicate his life to poetry,” His father scoffed, shaking his head. 

Enjolras stepped through the door, looking between Jehan, who was restrained by two distraught servants, and his unregretful parents. “What’s going on?” He asked, dropping his bookbag and stepping forward. 

“Your father and I have decided that it would be best if we limited your and Jean’s reading.” his father answered coolly, nodding at the servants to release him. 

The small boy ran for the door once he was free, his fingers pulling at the padlock as tears fell down his cheeks. 

“How could you?” Enjolras breathed, before his voice hardened and he spun to face his parents. “You knew what the study meant to him. How could you just cut us off?” 

His mother glanced around, as if embarrassed. “Mon brave,” She said calmly, stepping forward. “We aren’t cutting you off. We’re just limiting you a bit. We’ll still give you books to read.” 

Enjolras crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. “No poetry, though.” 

“Poetry is not a proper job! Your brother won’t make a single franc doing that!” 

“You’re wrong.” Enjolras said, walking to Jehan. He’d collapsed, and was now sobbing against the door, his entire body shaking. He helped him to his feet and wrapped an arms around him, steering him away from the study’s door. 

He took Jehan to his room and sat him down on his bed, letting the younger man sob against his chest. 

His heart ached, and his hatred toward his parents grew.   
\--  
“You can’t.” Enjolras said, his hands slammed on the table. 

He, Jehan, and their parents were having breakfast together, when they not-so-casually alerted them that their eighteen year old Jehan would be wed. 

Jehan expressed his own discontent with the idea, but his mother only pressed her lips together and continued on with going over the marriage arrangement. That was when Enjolras interrupted. 

“Yes, I can, and I will.” his father said harshly, taking a sip of his tea. 

Enjolras stood, pushing his chair out behind him. “I won’t be a part of it.” 

“Very well, then.” His mother snapped. “Now, ma fleur-” 

“I don’t want to get married.” Jehan interrupted. 

His mother paused, before laughing softly. “Why of course you do, don’t be silly.” 

“No, I don’t.” He argued, shaking his head. 

“It’s our biggest partner’s daughter. Somebody is going to be wed to her.” His father said, shaking his head. 

Jehan stood, and his mother put up her hand. “Jean-” 

“Jehan.” 

She sighed, exasperated. “Fine, then, _Jehan_ , don’t do this. It’d be almost as bad as when you wanted to be a poet.” 

“Jehan and I are moving out.” Enjolras decided, realizing that he no longer wished to discuss anything with his parents. He nodded to himself, glancing over at his brother for confirmation. 

“I-what?” His mother sputtered, and Jehan nodded softly in agreement.   
\--  
“It’s nice.” Jehan confirmed, looking about the shoebox flat. 

“It’s small. But it’ll do.” Enjolras replied. “It’s all father’ll pay for, after all.” 

Jehan smiled, stacking his books on the shelf. “At least we have poetry.”  
\--  
“He likes you.” Jehan said from where he sat next to Enjolras, looking over the room at Grantaire. 

The leader of the recently established group scoffed, shaking his head. 

“What?” Enjolras shook his head again, focusing on the papers at the table in front of him. “R? No, no, he doesn’t. Don’t be stupid.” 

“He’s my best friend. Believe me, he’s in love with you.” 

Enjolras swallowed. “Really?”   
\--  
“He likes you.” 

“What? No, he doesn’t.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, leaning in. “Courfeyrac is utterly and completely in love with you.” 

“Dont be silly, Enj.” Jehan said, voice soft as he wrote furiously in his poetry notebook. 

“Remember three months ago? When you said that R liked me and I didn’t believe you?” 

“And now you’re dating.” Jehan filled in, looking down. 

Enjolras leaned forward towards his brother, a rare smile on his face. “Do yourself a favor and believe me.”   
\--  
Enjolras stared. He might’ve known it would end like this.

Jehan stumbled forward, just outside of the barricade. 

Just outside of his reach. 

His green eyes went up to Enjolras, and he could see his brother’s fear. 

“Jehan,” He breathed, voice small. Grantaire held him back, and Combeferre did the same to Courfeyrac. 

Then, Jehan looked away, and Enjolras briefly saw the child he once had to save from his superior’s clutches

It felt oddly familiar. 

“Vive la France! Long live the Republic!” He called, voice loud and deep, as strong as his brothers. 

Enjolras felt a crack in his heart the moment the bullets were fired, and another when his little brother hit the ground.


End file.
